The Return
by KatLurkinKathkins
Summary: After the last scene in 6-22 Grave. Spike dealing with the consequences of events in Africa, and returning to Sunnydale. Spike’s and Buffy’s POV. [Page 1& 2 rewritten 6/3/02]
1. Africa

This is my first attempt at writing since high school (way too many years ago) and my first attempt at fan-fiction. Please be kind, but honest and please review or I'll never get any better.  
  
Thanks  
  
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6/2/02 Revised with Lanna's and Kellyne's critiques, added more physical descriptions and actions  
  
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Part 1  
  
Africa  
  
Agony radiated through Spike's body, as the demon hand pressed against his chest. The grimly painted walls of the cave seemed to waver and recede. Although the demon hand was placing something inside him, the sensation he felt was that of being ripped apart . . . . torn asunder. Against his will, he cried out. Spike felt unprepared for the pain, the sheer physical sensation of his soul being returned. Fiery tentacles radiating across his body, until it seemed to consume him.  
  
Then physical pain was overwhelmed by the mental agony. Guilt . . Compassion . . Remorse . . all flooded through him. For the first time since he'd become a vampire, Spike understood the enormity of the things he'd done. The feeding, the pain . . . the torture. Over one hundred years of death. . . . no . . murder, overwhelmed him . . . . . then nothing, blessed unconsciousness.  
  
When Spike woke, he felt cold rough stone against his back. His body pulsed with pain as all the cuts, bruises and burns, he'd recently acquired, made their presence felt. Slowly, agonizingly he rolled over and force himself to his feet, his crystal blue eyes carefully examining the surrounding cave. He appeared to be alone. He was confused and unsure for a moment. Why was he in this cave? What happened?  
  
Then his painful, new, soul-induced emotions and feelings sprang to life. He fell to his knees, the hard cold stone floor much less painful then the agonizing guilt and remorse that overwhelmed him. Oh God . . . . . the things he'd done.  
  
Spike forced himself back to his feet and staggered toward the entrance of the cave. Thankfully it was night. Outside, a full moon shone down, lighting the night with unnatural clarity. The native village was silent, seemingly dead. . . .  
  
Another wave of emotion almost overwhelmed him. Spike's body was aching with the brutal punishment it had taken during the trials. Blood trickled lazily down his arm and the burns on his chest throbbed with the rhythm of a heartbeat, the heartbeat he was without. Spike forced his body to keep moving. He focused on maintaining his precarious balance and putting one foot in front of the other. It seemed an eternity before he slumped against the ancient jeep in which he arrived. . . . .a lifetime ago or so it seemed.  
  
As he sank onto the cracked and peeling black vinyl of the jeeps driver's seat, Spike questioned the sanity of what he'd done. Resting his head against the steering wheel he tried to get hold of his emotions, his feelings . . . . . . his sense of self. What to do? A part of him wanted to die. Just sit here until morning when the rising sun would turn him to dust, ending the pain . . .and . . . the guilt.  
  
Just . . give . . up. . . . .  
  
A rebellious spark deep inside Spike, flickered to life. Rebellion was a feeling he knew well and was comfortable with Amid the sea of new and painful thought and emotions, he was grateful for it . . . . welcomed it. NO. He would not, NOT give up. He would not throw away this chance, this painfully earned gift . . . or curse. He'd fought for this soul and he'd be dammed it if killed him.  
  
Spike reached down to the reconnect the ignition wires that would start the jeep, the engine coughed then sputtered to life. The jeep lurched forward as he accelerated away from the silent village. Speed gave the vehicle a bone jarring rhythm, since it lacked shock-absorbers. However, Spike felt the need for speed. He needed to get far away from the village, far away from the cave, far away from his thoughts and emotions.  
  
But, his thoughts and emotions could not be left behind. Spike clenched his hands fiercely into fists around the steering wheel. He understood so much. He understood Buffy's rejection of his soulless love. He understood Angels brooding. So much was painfully clear.  
  
The African landscape flew by, a blurry shadow around the edges of the road illuminated by the jeep's headlights. What he'd done in the past, was done, it was over and could not be changed. Spike forced his hands to relax their grip on the steering wheel. The dead could not be brought back to life and crimes could not be wiped away. There was no true restitution for his actions.  
  
Spike pondered, the future. It would have to be different of course. He'd have to change the way he lived and the way he treated others. Just looking ahead was overwhelming, without even contemplating his sins in of the past. The jeep jerked to the right as it hit a particularly big pothole, causing his bruised side to hit the door painfully.  
  
He shook his head. No! He refuse to be the brooding poncy bastard that Angel was. The past could not be undone. His actions, what he'd done when soulless could crush and ruin him or he could accept. He could accept what had been. He could accept what he'd done and use it to change, change himself and his tomorrows.  
  
As Spike continued to think the jeep careened recklessly over the rough unpaved road.  
  
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Please review  
  
(shameless plea for opinions and praise) 


	2. Sunnydale

Thanks to everyone who review the first part of this story, it encouraged me to add more to the story.  
  
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6/3/02 Revised with Lanna's and Kellyne's critiques, added more physical descriptions and actions  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Part 2  
  
Sunnydale  
  
It was a calm California night with a half-moon shining in the sky. Crickets sounded rhythmically from the tall grass at the sides of the road Occasional a gentle breeze blew causing the grass to gently sway.  
  
Then, the peace was disturbed by a distant rumbling sound. The sound grew in volume as a motorcycle appeared. The crickets became silent as the motorcycle approached, slowed and came to a stop on the gravel at the side of the road.  
  
A slim man sat astride the motorcycle. His compact, yet well muscled body was encased in black, black boots, black jeans and a short black leather jacket. His blond hair was windblown not covered by a helmet. He tilted his head to the side as his blue eyes observed on the sign in front of him.  
  
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Spike's thoughts wandered as he stared at the sign.  
  
"Welcome to Sunnydale"  
  
He was back, back in Sunnydale. So much had happened. So much had changed and everything, all of it for her. . . . . The love he hadn't expected, hadn't wanted. For her he had become something he'd previously despised. Spike remembered berating and mocking Angel over his soul and the way he acted under a souls influence.  
  
"Demons don't change" How wrong that was.  
  
Spike laughed, it was a rough, rusty sound. It had taken two weeks to get back to California and he hadn't talked to anyone the entire time. He'd spend his time alone in the shadows, thinking. . . . dealing. His wounds were almost completely healed and his body once again felt strong and vital. One thing you can say about Vampires, we heal fast.  
  
As Spike sat on his motorcycle staring at the sign, [Welcome to Sunnydale], he laughed again. Would anyone here welcome him? So much had changed since he first came to Sunnydale and since he last left .  
  
When he and Drusilla first came to Sunnydale, years ago, he'd though he understood himself and the world. Everything made sense and the rules were clear. He was a demon. Demons killed humans and drained them dry. Humans were cattle, nothing more. Slayer were a challenge. Slayers were a fight to be remembered then killed. Vampires were not men, they were demons in a dead-man's bodies. When had that changed? When had the line blurred and become unclear.  
  
Spike closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He inhaled the night, pine, floral scents and the stinging hot asphalt smell of the road. His chest rose and fell with a movement that mimicked breathing. But he didn't breath. He had a heart that didn't beat, but did love. . . . . too much.  
  
He was not a man, even with a soul he could not be a man. His goal was to NOT be a monster. Spike wasn't sure what he was or what he would be. He wasn't sure where he'd fit in. But he was sure he could no longer hurt Buffy as he had . . . before.  
  
He clenched his fists tightly, nails digging into his palms painfully as the memory of their last encounter washed over him. He'd though that Buffy would be safe from him, the demon he was. If anyone should have been safe it was Buffy. But he'd thought wrong. He'd hurt Buffy. Not intentionally with malice, but that didn't matter. Did it?  
  
Spike reached up and rubbed his dusty face with his hand. His blue eyes held a pained expression. He'd gone to Buffy's house to apologize, to talk, to make her understand. Instead his emotions had overwhelmed him and he'd . . . . . .  
  
His mind veered away from the memory. That was one memory that had been just as painful before he had a soul, as after. His shiny new soul helped him better understand why his actions were . . . unforgivable. He hadn't just hurt Buffy physically, he had almost raped her. He'd lost control of himself and almost raped Buffy, the woman he loved.  
  
Was there anyway to fix that? Was there anyway to be forgiven for that? Spike wasn't sure, but he had to try. He had keep moving forward. He would try. . . . . His love for Buffy was still the strongest emotion he felt.  
  
His love for Buffy motivated him to get a soul, it would inspire him to, NOT be a monster. Spike wondered if Buffy would ever accept him in her life. Would he ever hold her again? His body tightened painfully as he remembered holding her, kissing her, loving her.  
  
Spike ran his hand roughly through his short blond hair, then shook his head. Oh no, he wasn't going to fall into that trap. No brooding allowed or at least very little. A smile of true amusement curved his lips. Soul or not, he still though Angel was a great-melodramatic-broody-sod.  
  
Spike reached down and turned the key to start the motorcycles engine. The engine roared to life and he headed into Sunnydale, destiny awaited.  
  
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Please review  
  
(shameless plea for opinions and praise) 


	3. The Crypt

The Crypt  
  
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Buffy walked through the cemetery. The faint silvery light from the full moon was just bright enough to create eerie shadows among the tombstones and crypts. A cool breeze blew, through the leaves of the trees causing branches to sway and rustle. The breeze brought the scent of roses to her and she inhaled deeply.  
  
Except for the breeze the night was still. No vampires were rising, no monsters rampaging, just the breeze and the tree branches moving . . . except. There it was again, a sensation of being watched. Sometimes it was almost like a caress against her body. Buffy continues walking casually, but every slayer sense she had was on the alert as she tried to determine the source of the feeling.  
  
This wasn't the first time she'd felt this. It happened several time over the last two weeks. She didn't perceive malice or evil, just someone, something focused on her . . . watching her. Again she was unable to pinpoint the location of the source of the feeling. Buffy knew she was being watched . . . again. Then the sensation was gone. She exhaled the breath, she hadn't realized she was holding.  
  
Buffy stopped walking and looked carefully around, but saw nothing. Damn, was she imagining things? Buffy continued her patrol, closely observing her surroundings, but the sensation of being watched did not return.  
  
As Buffy headed west toward the older part of the cemetery, she approached the Spike's crypt. The heavy door groaned as she pulled it open to enter the crypt. Inside, her shoes rang hollowly in the empty space. Clem had stayed here after Spike left, but almost two weeks ago she'd found the place empty and all Spike's belongings gone. She didn't know where to find Clem to ask him why.  
  
An ache started in her throat again. Buffy thought about Spike, wondered, where he was, what he was doing. Not that she missed him. She didn't. She had just gotten used to having him around. She was used to him popping up all the time and annoying her, getting in the way. Yes.  
  
She couldn't possible miss him after what he had tried to do. He was an evil soul-less vampire as his actions had proved. But the ache in her throat, spread to her chest and a sob broke free. Everything was so confusing. It was so difficult sorting out what she should feel, with what she did feel.  
  
She remembered his attack of her. She remembered him holding her down and trying to ripe open her robe. She also remembered the look on Spike's face when he realize what he'd just done. Buffy forced herself to think about how Spike planned to sell demon eggs, not how he held her and stopped her from dancing to death and burning up. Buffy slowly left the crypt and continued patrolling.  
  
Everything was all mixed up, so confusing. Her feeling and emotions were pulling her in different directions. She'd had nightmares about the attack in her bathroom, but she still felt . . . . . something . . for him. How could she both hate and lov. . . care for him. To bad you couldn't control your emotion as easily as controlling you action, not that she'd always been stellar in that field either. She'd made so many bad decisions since she'd been brought back to life.  
  
Ultimately it all came down to who she chose to be. The feelings she had, were real. But she had to decide what kind of person she wanted to be, regardless of her feelings. Did she want to be the type of person who slept with someone in order feel something, . . . using that person? No. she'd already made that decision when she told Spike they would not sleep together again. Did she want to be someone who was emotionally involved with a soul-less demon who committed illegal and harmful acts? . . . . . . no. No, that is not who she would be either.  
  
Buffy hugged her black leather coat closer to her body. Did it ever get any easier? She couldn't even truly hate Spike. He was a vampire, a demon and it was her mistake for ever forgetting that. He would always be drawn to violence and darkness, it was in his nature. The chip in his head only reined him in, changed his behavior patterns. It didn't change what he was at his core. . . . soulless . . . . evil.  
  
Evil?  
  
Maybe not evil anymore. But he was part of the dark and she'd had more then her share of dark in the past year. She needed the light now. She needed people around her who knew right from wrong and were capable of understanding her purpose in life. She didn't need someone who tried to separate her from her friends or draw her further into the shadows. She'd only just begun to be able to acknowledge her own darkness . . . .and shadows.  
  
Since Willow . . . . . .  
  
Buffy looked up and realize she was outside her house. She'd been so deep in thought she hadn't realized she'd walked home. She unlocked the front door and stepped into the house and firmly closed the door.  
  
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Please review  
  
(shameless plea for opinions and praise) 


End file.
